Muggle?
by Gradual.Descent
Summary: A small peek into the world of Draco Malfoy as he takes Astoria Greengrass on a date for the first time... To a muggle restaurant?


Muggle? By

Finely manicured nails tap the polished mahogany table in a steady beat, accompanying the pianist in the background with subconscious ease. I watch them with caution as I wait on her reaction to the restaurant I've just escorted us both into.

"Muggle?" Her arched eyebrow and questioning tone pierce right to the heart of the issue.

Draco Malfoy, pureblood supremacist and scion of one of the most notable magical families in the whole of Great Britain, opting to go on a date - never mind a _first_ date - in muggle London? Unheard of.

I adopt my most assured of smiles and direct it at Astoria Greengrass, hoping that my faux confidence will belie the nerves I feel.

"You did say you wanted me to surprise you, did you not?" I intend for it to be delivered in a tone that would make father proud: smooth, sophisticated, and in control.

I'm not sure if my words come out in such a fashion, but she doesn't appear to have bought my reasoning, nor does she seem willing to play along with the verbal sparring of which father had drilled into me so thoroughly. Her reply is straight to the point, just as her original question had been.

"Bullshit. I won't deny, I am surprised. After all, the Draco Malfoy I knew wouldn't be seen dead in muggle London." She smirks slightly, the expression on my face as she spoke must have told her all she needs to know. Encouraged, she continues:

"I may not be in line to inherit, but I was taught how to read people, just like any good pureblood. That look on your face is most definitely not the look of someone who's comfortable in their surroundings. Level with me Draco, if this is going to go anywhere, you owe me that."

In the background, the soft ballad the pianist had been playing fades away. The next composition is decidedly more upbeat, and Astoria's finger tapping ceases as she leans forward slightly, awaiting my response.

I have to bite my tongue to contain the laugh that grows on my tongue. I've most definitely met my match in Astoria Greengrass. She is so different to that sycophant, Parkinson, who hung onto every word I said without ever really challenging me. Here before me is an equal. Maybe - just maybe - she'll understand.

I subconsciously begin to rub my left forearm as I speak.

"People like me, even now - two years on - aren't so popular in the wizarding world." I concede, staring at my reflection in the polished wood rather than force myself to meet her eyes.

I'll live with that stigma for the rest of my life. _Death Eater_. _Murderer. Muggle hater._ The whispers follow me wherever I go in the wizarding world. Reminders of the worst decision I have ever made. _Will ever make,_ I correct myself.

The silence has drawn on longer than I expected, the only noise I can hear beyond our table is the sound of the piano playing a song I vaguely recognise as an etude my piano instructor had attempted to teach me as a young boy.

Mother had insisted I learn, despite father's protests, from a half blood instructor who did not discriminate between muggle and wizarding pieces. The best money could buy, she'd claimed, outweighed the blood they bore. Sadly, even the best money could buy could not make up for my lack of musical aptitude. The pianist today played the piece at a pace I could never have dreamed of replicating. Chopin, I believe the composer is called.

Slowly, I raise my eyes from the table to study the woman - two years my junior - seated before me. Her icy blue eyes are studying me with barely disguised curiosity, which quickly seems to turn to approval as my eyes met hers.

She nods at me, seemingly pleased at the conclusion she's reached. "Now we're getting somewhere."

Her simple statement leaves me with more questions than answers. Just what have I gotten myself into? This whole conversation has been an experience in itself. It takes something special to leave me uncertain of myself in such a manner as this.

"Care to elaborate?" I venture hopefully, I need to regain some control of this conversation. _No,_ I mentally correct myself, _I need a few seconds to regain my composure before she goes on the offensive again._

"You may struggle to believe this," She stops to smirk for a moment, as the opening few chords of Beethoven's _Fur Elise_ begin to float around the room, I quirk my eyebrow at her as I await the end of her statement. "I wasn't completely sure about accepting your invitation for this meal. The impression you left back at Hogwarts, it wasn't a person I was keen to spark a relationship with, so to speak."

She chooses her words carefully, keen not to be too harsh, but her words hurt all the same. I know I was a less than admirable person back then, but I'd always thought my housemates - at least - liked me. Before I can even begin to form a protest, Astoria has continued.

"I decided I may as well give you a chance. If nothing else, I'd get a free meal out of it. But you've changed Draco." She stops to smile at me reassuringly, the friendliest gesture she's made since we arrived. "You'd never have shown weakness like that, back then. It's made me think that maybe there's something to work with. There's a sadness in your eyes, now. You've matured."

It is almost galling to hear those words come from someone younger than me. I can actually feel that Malfoy sneer begin to grow on my face and have to bite back a scathing comment in reply. Only now, having succeeded in quashing the impulse, do I really stop to consider her words. A sadness? In what world could that be a good thing. I decide to ask, too. Her response however, was unexpected.

She throws her head back and laughs. It's not a beautiful laugh, as you'd expect to read about in those terrible romance novels mother read. It's real, broken up by little snorts as she struggles to regain composure, I find myself struggling to conceal a smile as I listen to it. Her blonde hair, so neatly arranged before, has fallen into a little disarray, and I find that it suits her more than the formal look she had adopted originally. A stray ringlet has framed the left side of her face. I have to fight the urge to reach over the table and push it behind her ear.

Eventually, she composes herself enough to reply.

"I'm sorry, you betrayed your upbringing there." She stops for a second as she bites back another round of laughter, snorting in the process.

"Attractive, Greengrass." I quip, smirking as she frowns at me.

"Well, that _is_ why you wanted to take me out tonight, is it not?" She drawls, drawing a genuine smile from me in the process. A dry sense of humour. Perfect. "Anyway, to answer your question, I've always found that the negative experiences in life are necessary to truly appreciate the good ones. After all, if you can't feel true sadness, how can you ever know true happiness?"

For once in my life, I'm speechless. I had little expected such a philosophical statement when I asked the question. Now however, being forced to think of her words, I couldn't fault the logic behind them. I had grown up so privileged, never wanting for anything, that it was hard to appreciate just how good I'd had it.

Now, despite how low I felt, I had learned to treasure every good thing that came my way for the positive experience that it was. It was such a simple premise, but it was amazing how quickly hearing it can shift your perspective on matters.

Astoria must have seen something in my face, in that moment, because she chose then to clasp my hand in hers and smile.

"You're learning, see?"

In the background, the pianist shifted again into another ballad, but I didn't care, my attention was now solely focussed on the woman before me.


End file.
